


Long Walk Home

by CarylDixonandGrimes (FandomLifeTookMyHandAndSaidRUN)



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Deviates From Canon, I apologize in advance, Platonic Caryl - Freeform, Rickyl, Rickyl Writers' Group, Spoilers for Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 20:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomLifeTookMyHandAndSaidRUN/pseuds/CarylDixonandGrimes
Summary: Carol is relentless, and wants Daryl to get out of the woods and behind the safety of walls.  It's been 10+ years since Rick "died", they're not getting any younger, and she worries like any good friend would.  When out on a run with Aaron, they come across a figure from the past.  And like a true fanfiction writer jerk, I gift you an ambiguous ending.  Take it any which way you will.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Given the following prompt/rule: "It's better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all!" with a 1k maximum word count... 
> 
> My brain came up with this. And then Chapter 2 was a separate idea I had come up with, but also oddly related to this story, so voila! I mashed them together.

“I’m so sorry,”  Carol wrapped her slight hand around Daryl’s dirty blistered fingers, letting the shovel drop to the ground.  “He was a good boy, Dog served you well.”

 

Daryl nodded, his sweaty disheveled hair falling down into his face.  He sniffled and dragged the backside of his hand across his face. 

 

“Went down fightin’, I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for him.”

 

They both stared down at the fresh grave.  Carol had weaved some grape vines into a wreath, added the touch of some wildflowers, and placed it on top of the mound.  And Daryl pulled white pebbles from the nearby stream and placed them in the shape of D, for Dog.

 

“Maybe now that you don’t have him anymore, you’ll think of coming back to one of the settlements?  I don’t like the idea of out here all alone now.”

 

“And how many times we gonna have this conversation? Or you just feelin’ particularly antsy nowadays since you got an empty nest?  I don’t wanna be cooped up behind a fence like some goddamn animal in a zoo. It’s been what, a decade now?”

 

“12 years-”

 

“You still think you can change my mind?” Daryl snapped.  Shaking his head, he snatched up the shovel and walked back towards his camp.

 

“You still think you’re gonna find Rick out here?  That excuse died out more than several years ago. He’s gone.  You’re not going to find his reanimated body out there.”

 

Daryl stopped in his tracks, his shoulders dropping as the life seemingly ran out of him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Carol apologized, hastily walking ahead of him so she could turn and face him head on.  “I am sorry. That… I haven’t been myself-”

 

“Since ‘Zeke passed, I know,” Daryl replied softly.  “You’d think given the number of folks we’ve lost along the way, that someday it’d get easier.”

 

Carol nodded, rubbing a hand down Daryl’s arm sympathetically.  “I’m still sorry anyway. I shouldn’t be talking to you like that.  If it were Ezekiel, I’d probably be doin’ the same.”

 

“It ain’t like I spend every wakin’ moment lookin’ or scopin’ out herds.  I just… I keep an eye out when I’m huntin’, checkin’ the traps…” Daryl’s voice trailed off as his eyes turned toward the horizon.  “I don’t go out of my way no more, but I also can’t stop. I won’t. Ain’t givin’ up.”

 

“Some might all that crazy-”

 

“Been called worse.”

 

“You’re dedicated.  Stubborn. So am I. I’m not gonna stop worryin’ about you, or askin’ when you’ll think about moving closer to town.  Summer is one thing, but winters are cold and you’re not gettin’ any younger.”

 

“Fine.  But I’m gonna keep sayin’ no, and doin’ what I gotta do.”

 

Carol sighed, “Fair enough.  Same old, same old.”

 

Daryl looked at the sky to gauge the time, “Should probably get that stew goin’ if we want to eat tonight.  Only a few hours of light left.”

 

Together the two prepared a simple meal, no silence between them was awkward.  They went about their evening tasks like a well oiled machine, meeting once again back by the fire before retiring for the night.

 

“You goin’ back tomorrow?”

 

Carol nodded, “Henry has asked for some cooking lessons, and I promised I would show him and his wife a few of my favorite recipes.”

 

“Henry can’t cook?  Well who the hell made the squirrel pie last time I was at the Kingdom? I handed them off to him.”

 

Carol chuckled, “He did.  And he cooks very well, but his wife has tried more than a few times to make him a special meal and… he’s either spent the next few days near a toilet, or nearly vomited while trying to eat the meal she prepared.  She’s a talented seamstress, but try as she might, she can’t make edible food. I’d rather not see him starve to death.”

 

“Hmm,” Daryl almost smiled.  “If I recall, you didn’t have much luck fixin’ Lori’s cookin’.”

 

Carol smiled at the memory.  “At least her food was edible.  Usually burnt, but edible. I had better luck with Rick.  He was infinitely more patient.”

 

“Is there anyone you haven’t taught?”

 

Carol thought for a moment.  “Your brother.”

 

“Hmm,” Daryl gave a wistful smile. “He could cook alright. I didn’t starve. As long as he wasn’t in the drunk tank or serving his sentence in the clink.  Canned beans and fried bologna was his speciality.”

 

“My god… bologna. I don’t even want to think-“

 

“S’all lips and assholes, according to Merle.”

 

“Gross,” Carol laughed, swatting at Daryl’s arm. “I wouldn’t mind a bologna and cheese sandwich right now. On white bread with mustard…”

 

“And a bag of chips, maybe a coke to go with it…”

 

Daryl’s stomach growled, and they both snickered. They sat for awhile listening to the crackle of the fire and the night sounds around them.  

 

“If you could go back… and change anything. Would you?” Carol’s eyes shone brightly in the firelight, the quiver of her chin betraying her.  Daryl knew what she was asking. If there was some magic moment where if they had done something differently, would their lives have turned out any different? 

 

Daryl sighed, poking the fire with the stick, releasing sparks into the night sky. He shook his head,

 

“No… do I wish a lot of things happened differently? Yeah.  But would I change it? That’s a bit loaded. What if one of those choices you or I made led us down a different path? What if the Governor had gotten us the first time around, or Negan? Things could be a hell of a lot worse than they are now.”

 

“But maybe-“

 

“Uh-uh. Don’t wanna think it, because then that life? Maybe I wouldn’t’ve had Rick, ya know? Might never’ve met Ezekiel yourself… I prefer not to think of the alternative.”

 

A bittersweet smile graced Carol’s lips.  And she nodded, in agreement. “Better to have loved and lost…”

 

“Mm-Hmm,” Daryl tossed another log onto the fire.  

 

“You’ve become wise in your old age,” Carol mused.

 

“Shush, woman. We don’t even know how old we are anymore.”

 

Carol, turning serious once more, looked up at Daryl. “Despite it all, I’m thankful and blessed to have had you for a friend.”

 

Daryl smiled, “Likewise.  Now we done talkin’? Need some shut-eye if I’m escortin’ you back to the Kingdom in the morning.”

 

“Yes, dear,” She chastised, wriggling down in her blankets to lay flat by the fire.  “G’night Daryl.

 

“G’night, Carol.”

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

_ Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. _

 

“What’s with that noise? Been hearin’ the past three nights already.”

 

“I dunno,” Daryl whispered back.  “Small herd movin’, who cares. We’re fine here for the night.”

 

He and Aaron were hunkered down in a small building near the roadside. They were headed back toward Alexandria, having spent the past week traveling the area scouting for building supplies and various sundries.

 

“Just glad we ain’t sleepin’ in trees tonight, that’s for sure.” Aaron, lay flat on his back with a groan.  “Ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

 

The two men soon fell fast asleep. They were still a few days from home, and were eager to get back.

 

******

 

_ Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. _

 

“Four nights! Dammit I’m gonna go see what that noise is. Put that damn walker down with my bare hands if I have to,” Aaron whispered angrily.

 

“Anybody tell you that you’re mighty bitchy when you ain’t got any decent sleep?”

 

Aaron glared at Daryl and rolled over in a huff, pulling his jacket up over his ears.

 

****

 

_ Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. _

 

“Goddamnit, that’s enough! If I’m not back in 10 minutes, please knife me in the brain so I don’t bother another poor soul!”  Aaron growled, grabbing for the machete as he climbed down from his branch in the tree.

 

Daryl just shook his head and watched Aaron as he pushed through the trees up toward the road.  He listened with his eyes closed as the man tried to move stealthily amongst the underbrush. There was a long pause, and then the sound of hurried footsteps back toward the tree.

 

“Dar? Uh… you might want to come see this?”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I-, just come. Please?”

 

Daryl huffed, and then climbed down from the tree and followed Aaron back up toward the road.

 

_ Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. _

 

Daryl squinted into the darkness at the lone figure as it walked down the stretch or road.  The moon was covered in passing clouds, and light was scant.

 

“Just a walker-“

 

“No, watch…” Aaron insisted.  “There’s something off about it.”

 

Daryl began walking down the road after the figure. Stepping in time.

 

_ Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. _

 

As he drew closer, he pulled the knife from his belt.  Gripping it tightly in his fist, he raised his arm.

 

_ Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. _

 

The clouds shifted and the moonlight once again lit the night with its feeble rays.  

 

“No,” Daryl mouthed to himself.  His eyes moving from the shuffle of aged and crumbling boots, to the thick heavy belt at the figure’s waist.  The too big denim shirt that hung from tired bony shoulders. Graying curls sat heavy on the collar, but it was the gait that stuck out the most.

 

That bow-legged walk, the sorry excuse for a police issue duty belt… 

 

His gasp came too late to be stifled. The figure turned toward him, and the knife Daryl held raised over his head fell to the ground with a clatter.

 

His voice escaped him in a strained whisper.

  
“ _ Rick?” _

**Author's Note:**

> Am I awful? I am awful. Sorry?


End file.
